


Haiku and the Art of Tea Making

by cassowaryriot



Series: Mastered Arts [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: A smidgen of Jet/Zuko, Ba Sing Se, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Tea Shop AU (sort of), The Jet/Zuko is a bit not good, some descriptions of wounds, some name-calling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:49:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26780128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassowaryriot/pseuds/cassowaryriot
Summary: A celebratory evening on the ferry with Jet makes “Lee’s” life all the more difficult once he settles in Ba Sing Se. Being discovered by the Avatar’s Water Tribe warrior-peasant doesn’t simplify things. Convincing Sokka that Zuko isn’t a threat is difficult when the Avatar is in the city waiting to be captured, but — does Zuko really have next steps? Or has his life really become that aimless? A retelling of the second half of season two, with poetry, delicious food, and bitter decisions.
Relationships: Jet/Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Mastered Arts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1980964
Comments: 47
Kudos: 239





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for joining! This work is complete, but not beta'd. Warning that this is not a Jet redemption fic, and the Jet bits included don't do him any favors.

From time to time  
The clouds give rest  
To the moon-beholders.  
 _— Matsuo Bashō_

Above the ferry, the moon gleamed, a sliver cut above the world. Zuko did not like the shoddy ferry, it stood as a reminder of his new station. Banished, then hunted, now a refugee taking refuge with the people he’d always longed to conquer. Beside him, his uncle hummed. Uncle was right. Azula could not be trusted, she needed to be taken down. Clearly, she would find them wherever they hid.

But if the Dragon of the West could not conquer Ba Sing Se, what chance did a teenage girl have? Across the bay, Zuko could see nothing but black. No settlement lights cast light against the lake, no city lights twinkled in the distance. A future awaited him. He did not know which one.

Once in Ba Sing Se, what would they do? Collect themselves and recuperate their many losses? When Zuko probed his uncle for information on how they would overtake the city, he chuckled, murmured platitudes. Perhaps this was life now, stuck on a ferry amongst the human stink of fleeing hundreds.

The worst part? He knew that stink. He’d carried it with him for many weeks on the road. He, a former prince of the Fire Nation, now countryless, was nothing more than human cattle, eating scraps. Over the scraps at least, his uncle could find no silver lining.

Zuko didn’t think much of the freedom fighters when they accosted him. What did they see? What did Jet see when he looked at him? He had been royalty. They should have bowed, laid themselves prostrate on the ground before him.

“Here's the deal. I hear the captain's eating like a king while the refugees have to feed off his scraps. Doesn't seem fair, does it?”

“What sort of king is he eating like?” uncle asked.

“The fat, happy kind. You want to help us ‘liberate’ some food?” Jet sneered. So sure of himself. His ‘freedom fighters’ stood at attention beside him, as if he himself were a general. Zuko bristled. This backwater peasant thought he could rouse Zuko into following him.

Beside him, his uncle drooled.

Dammit. Zuko tossed his bowl of off-smelling gruel into the black gleaming water. “I'm in.”

* * *

Zuko flung himself through the darkness, body one honed weapon. Without firebending, he needed to be faster, quieter, to move like a shadow. Azula may always outshine him in firebending, but his skill with his dual dao swords made him a worthy opponent.

Jet was impressed, and Zuko could tell from the way he shadowed him, from the way his gaze racked over his body as he slid through the darkness. They worked well together; Zuko followed Jet’s lead and Jet followed his. It was easy to fall into sync. It was easy to move.

To be purposeful.

Bellies full, his uncle gave him a conspiratorial wink, turning away to bed down for the night. Zuko could hear his voice in his head, and already it made him groan. _Go make friends, Prince Zuko._

Prince Zuko did not have friends. Princes had subjects.

Lee could have friends. He just didn’t.

Jet found him on the upper level reserved for guards, who were no doubt being reamed out by supervisors. Now it was abandoned, and Zuko had found his way up to be alone.

“You know, as soon as I saw your scar, I knew exactly who you were.” Zuko stiffened. “You're an outcast, like me. And us outcasts have to stick together. We have to watch each other's backs. Because no one else will.”

He was an outcast. Jet was correct about that. “You want to stick together?” He did not speak with wonder, Zuko spoke with derision.

“Why not?” Jet pushed forward, leaned against the rail. When his head tilted to stare at Zuko, he saw fire in the other boy’s eyes. “We made a pretty good team, didn’t we?”

_Prince Zuko, it’s not so bad to have friends in this world._

Would his uncle ever stop lending his unwanted wisdom? “I’m not interested.”

“Think I can change your mind?” Jet twisted his torso, facing Zuko in the shadowed moonlight. Zuko glared, not understanding, until he did. He was glad for the night, Jet couldn't see his face flush in alarm. He was being propositioned. Zuko had come of age on a ship of sailors. He’d heard every raunchy joke this side of the hemisphere — if not both.

Even so, he was missing on education. He had not had the chance to learn from his peers.

Having taken too long to respond, Jet took his chance and advanced, ghosting forward in the darkness. “I like the way you move, Lee.”

Zuko was no poet, he did not have a way with words. He was told he was brusque, unkind. He had no words for Jet, just surprise made rigid when Jet pressed close against him. The space between their mouths became nothing and when he kissed him. Zuko was being kissed and it was strange.

“Come on. Don’t go cold on me now.” Jet’s voice was sharp and teasing. Internally, Zuko screamed. He always seemed behind on things like this. Should he know what to do? Should he have experience in these arts? What did boys, peasant boys, know that he didn’t?

But his stomach burned hot, with embarrassment and something else. Zuko was simultaneously many things and nothing. He was Lee, a war refugee, and normal. He could lie through this.

“Shut up,” Zuko said sharply into the space between their mouths.

“That’s more like it.” Then Jet was back, mouths locked, pressing him backwards, the rail biting into the small of his back. Jet was teeth and tongue and heat, and Zuko struggled to keep up, to keep level. His breath was short when he licked into Jet’s mouth, tasting, exploring, wondering what more there was.

He jerked forward when Jet’s hand trailed down to grip his ass.

Exposed. They were so exposed. Zuko’s head turned, looking down into the darkness below. Most of the refugees had turned in for the night, but lanterns still glowed. While not on display, they were still out in the open. They could still be seen.

And here he was, Zuko, former prince of the Fire Nation, bent backwards over the crowd like a common whore.

“Jet,” he ground out, “not here.”

“Oh?” Jet’s hand kneaded into flesh, Zuko’s body thrummed with the unknown of what was to come. “Make me.”

Silence hung in the air, then Zuko made him. His limbs moved fast, and then he was the aggressor. He pushed Jet backwards, until he knocked his back against the wall of the boat. Both quieted, listening to learn if they’d been heard. But no one came. No one burst onto the balcony.

Jet’s smile was dagger sharp as his hands latched onto Zuko’s hips. Then he lowered, slowly with serpentine grace, and began to unravel Zuko’s sash.

“Jet — ” Zuko’s voice cut off, strangled.

“What? Something for you, then something for me.” Zuko’s thoughts were thunderous — for him? What would be for him? The clamor was silenced when Jet’s mouth found his cock, sucked him to the hilt. It was nothing quite like Zuko had experienced before. His hand could not compare, and Zuko found the urge to satiate himself frustrating at best. Taking care of his physical needs quieted his mind and allowed him to focus, but he was not so base to rely on it.

This was something more, something he hadn’t felt before. Something that could become dangerous. Jet’s mouth and hands were nimble, Zuko’s forearms pressed against the wall as he arched around Jet. For a horrible moment he wished for light, so he could see Jet’s slanted mouth curve around his dick. Then the thought made him queasy. He didn’t want to see.

Jet’s hands were doing something beneath him in the dark. Was he touching himself? The thought sent a strange thrill through him, but no, Jet’s hand returned to his hip, and the other slid around, down his cleft, his finger cold and wet with something against his —

“Jet.”

 _Pop_. Jet blew cool air across Zuko’s hot skin. “What? You've done this before, haven’t you?” A jeer. A jeer and judgement. Zuko flushed again in the privacy of darkness. But he wasn’t safe, not when Jet was on him. He would be able to feel the weakness, the inexperience... Sense he was less.

“Of course. It’s just — been a while.”

“Been a while?” Jet’s hand on his hip swept to squeeze his cock, accenting his words. “Then let’s fix that. I make you feel good, then you make me feel good. Right?”

Zuko’s body was tense as the finger circled his entrance. He could say no. Wrench himself away. But that would be admitting defeat.

And perhaps this would be easier than reciprocating with his mouth. He couldn’t imagine doing that.

His answer was his hand curling in Jet’s wiry hair, bringing his mouth back to cock. He gasped involuntarily as the warm mouth took him in again, as the finger probed him. It was strange, perhaps unwelcome, but discomfort was masked by the ever-present heat. Zuko was lost in it, fire coiled within him and he fought to keep it in. Jet pushed and prodded, teased and tormented, and Zuko’s skin was alight. Soon, three fingers pressed in and out of him, slick easing the way as Jet picked up speed. Zuko was overtaken, and as Jet’s fingers pounded within him he felt something within him give.

His shout was muffled as he bit his lip, hand gripping into Jet’s hair as he curled over his skull, hips fucking in on their own accord. The orgasm was brutal, nothing like a quiet, quick go in his chambers. His legs were jelly, threatening to collapse beneath him. Jet didn’t give him the chance. The other boy rose to his feet, spit on the wood flooring and wiped his mouth. Then he spun them around.

“Hands on the wall.” Fabric rustled as Jet’s trousers dropped. “I need to fuck you.”

Still short of breath, Zuko’s forehead pressed against the wall with his arms. Was this him? Was he doing this? Was the prince being ravaged by a simple earth kingdom peasant? No. Lee was. He spread his legs, flushing again when Jet gave an appreciative grunt. Then he was pressing in.

It was more than the fingers, but Jet had at least prepped him well. The cock forced its way in and Zuko’s mouth hung open, shocked at the warring sensations. His own cock was limp, spent, his own body still thrumming from the orgasm. But now wasn’t for him. Now was for Jet.

_Something for you, then something for me._

Jet’s mouth was hot on the back of his neck, his fingers tight on Zuko’s hips, using him. Zuko didn’t feel like himself, didn’t feel like anything except a conduit. Teeth met his shoulder and he jerked forward. The sensation must have been good for Jet, because he cursed. “So hot. You have no idea how you feel.”

Zuko gasped as Jet’s fingers bit into his hips, pulling tight. Between his own legs, Zuko’s cock twitched making him curse. Was this really happening to him? Was he so easily affected? Could Jet so easily get into his head, control him? His body? Not his mind, never his mind. Zuko bit back his own renewed groan of pleasure as Jet slumped against his back, cock buried within him.

Zuko was quiet in the aftermath. Jet tucked himself away, his smile still slanted and sharp. “Anything else I can do for you, Lee?” he purred.

Zuko’s cock twitched in his pants. Cum slid down his thigh. “No.”

“Think about what I said.”

In a flash, Jet was gone over the railing. Zuko was alone. He slid down the wall, hissing when his ass hit the ground. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Whatever that was, it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He wasn’t one of Jet’s fighters, a pawn at his fingertips.

His hands became fists, pounded against the floor before he buried his head between his knees. He needed to gain control or he’d be found and cause issues for his uncle. He couldn’t get this tension out by firebending, he needed to breathe.

He needed to focus on the road ahead.

* * *

By morning, Zuko regained his composure. Enough to roll his eyes as his uncle complained of lukewarm tea and poor brewing styles.

He told Jet no.

“Have it your way.”

It felt good to say no. It felt good to divorce from this thing, to know it would not happen again. Before them laid Ba Sing Se. Before them laid questions. How to move forward, how to outmaneuver Azula — if he could.

He could, and he would.

As he turned, he saw his uncle’s tea steaming. Zuko glanced behind him. Jet stood, eyes narrowed, fingers twitching, eager to move. Last night they’d gripped his hips tight. Now they looked likely to go for his hooks. Jet slipped away into the throng of people, and it seemed inevitable: it would not be the last time he saw Jet.

Lightning quick, Zuko slapped the now hot tea from his uncle’s hands.


	2. Chapter 2

Ba Sing Se was nothing like Sokka had ever seen before. He hadn’t been able to appreciate the craftsmanship at first — too busy trying to get it through the first Joo Dee’s head that they had _incredibly_ important information for the Earth King. It had been impossible to glean any information from that difficult and affable woman. 

In fact, it was sill hard tto appreciate the city. They were no closer to their audience with the Earth King, there were no leads on Appa. But by exploring the city on his own, Sokka began to _see_ it. 

Monorails slid around the city, connecting it and making it seem smaller than it was. The grid in the higher rings made _sense_. Sokka found himself wandering, thinking and wondering. Ba Sing Se was nothing like his Water Tribe home. Different from the villages they’d traveled through and flown over. Ba Sing Se was a new breed of city. 

With slam poetry haunts. 

His pride still stung from getting tossed out on his ass, but his blood still sang with the pleasure of getting a real _zing_ out. _Five-seven-five_ his brain chanted. Ba Sing Se was three syllables. Southern Water Tribe was five. 

_Watch out Ba Sing Se_   
_Never know what to expect_   
_From the Water Tribe_

Not enough punch. Sokka wracked his brain. If he ever saw that poetry girl again, he’d really give her a run for her money. Beyond that, counting syllables gave him something to do, something to run his thoughts through, instead of running them into the ground. Sokka had plans, he had so many plans. Plans for the day of black sun, plans to revitalize his community, he currently spent too much time thinking about the earth bending-powered monorail trains. What if they weren’t run by Earth Benders?

Sokka would run in circles, his brain was always running in circles. 

So he counted syllables, jotted down the good ones in a small notebook he purchased with delicate paper and slim charcoal sticks that were difficult to maintain. 

“Are you going to buy anything?” a droll female voice asked. 

“I ordered tea.” Sokka gestured towards the table, where the tea he’d ordered sat, drunk. 

“Are you going to order anything _else_? 

“Honestly? Wasn’t planning on it.”

That’s how he found himself tossed out of The Rose Sun, a fancy tea room. The waitress had been shooting glares at him as soon as he walked in — clearly it wasn’t the place for him. He tucked his notebook in his side bag, carefully put away his charcoal sticks in their leather roll. 

Sokka wasn’t ready to return to the home set aside for them, where no answers awaited them. Perhaps it wasn’t fair to avoid it — but it was hard, seeing Aang hurting and knowing there was nothing they could do for now. Maybe the town was wrong, rotten, at least, in the higher rings. 

The ride to the lower rings was swift, Sokka’s mind wandered to fire _propulsion_. Whether there was something there. Propulsion. Three syllables. 

_scheme, prepare, and plan_   
_full force, total propulsion_   
_so comes the black sun_

Maybe. Five-seven-five. It stuck with him because of the _limits_. Left to his own devices, Sokka would implode with his schemes and plans and schematics, his thoughts needed to be expertly distilled. 

The lower ring was more his style. He kept his boomerang on him, but the faces here he understood. They took care of themselves. Up above in the Upper Ring... those faces he couldn’t read, those faces he couldn’t trust. 

Sokka ducked into a tea shop, immediately beelining for a table in the corner. Hopefully he could buy himself an hour with a cup of tea. An hour of peace with his notebook and distill his thoughts. 

His eyes were scanning down the list of tea when a green clad figure stopped short of the table. The white apron told him who it was, and he looked up, his mouth open to order. Then it kept hanging open. 

Talk about faces you can’t trust. The prince of the Fire Nation stared back at him, his own mouth open, his own golden eyes wide. It was a stupid look on his stupid face. 

Wait — was Sokka’s expression as stupid? He snapped his mouth shut, pointed a finger. “ _You_ — ”

Zuko, because that’s who it was, closed his own mouth. His body language was stiff, as if he didn’t know whether to start blasting or to run. At least he didn’t start blasting. Instead his mouth parted and he said, so lowly it was nearly imperceptible, “Please don’t.” 

Sokka’s hand fell. He didn’t continue his train of thought: _You! Fire Prince Zuko! Scourge of the earth and bane of my existence! Guards! Guards!_

The silence stretched. Then, Zuko nodded, his shoulders seemed to fall in relief. When he spoke, his eyes were on the table, not on Sokka. “My name is Lee. What do you want?” 

“What do I _want_? Is that your customer service voice?” 

“Have we met?” Zuko grit out, eyes now glaring at Sokka’s left ear, as if looking him in the eye was impossible. “Well? What do you _want_?” 

“I expect,” Sokka said, voice lifting. He could feel it, he was becoming annoying. He could already hear Katara complaining, the whole gang groaning. He couldn’t help it — the need to antagonize consumed him. “I expect at least a _modicum_ of respect. Are you always so _rude_ to paying customers?” 

Zuko’s expression churned, anger lighting behind his eyes. _But he did not burn him to a crisp._ “Do you even know what ‘modicum’ means?” 

“Are you ever polite to _paying customers_?” 

From the back, behind the curtain, a voice called out. “Lee! More cups, more cups, nephew!” Sokka stiffened again — he knew that voice. General Iroh. Again, Zuko’s expression was strained. His mouth moved again, this time no words. But Sokka could hear him, the same words from before, “Please don’t.” 

“What’s good?” Sokka gestured towards the menu. His thoughts churned. 

“Whatever.”

“You’re really selling it.” 

Zuko’s brow furrowed, his expression petulant. “Fine.” He stalked away. 

Sokka’s thoughts whirled. The tea shop was unassuming, quaint. Dingy in a way. No harp music, no quiet tea hour. Conversation hummed. 

How on earth were they planning on infiltrating the Earth Kingdom through this dingy tea shop?

Sokka jumped when a tray hit the table. Zuko was back. The waiter slammed a stoneware cup on the table, causing tea to slosh over its sides. It was dramatic, and all the while, Zuko did not look at him, in fact he entirely ignored his table, even when Sokka tried to get a refill. He got one — after doing a flashdance to get it. But otherwise, Zuko looked everywhere in the shop but him, only returning to slide a slip of paper with his total across the table. 

Sokka scoffed — Zuko got him the most expensive blend on the menu. The cup had been delicious, even for someone who didn’t think much of tea. But what a _jerk_. 

Coins clinked as he dropped them on the table, fuming. Then, he grabbed a nub of charcoal and scribbled. 

_hospitality_   
_you don’t got it! consider,_   
_turning yourself in_

* * *

General Iroh went by Mushi. An unassuming, kindly name. No name was more unassuming than ‘Lee.’ From the top of the squat building next door, Sokka looked over into the alley way that lined the back of the shop. As ‘Mushi’ left, he called to his nephew to close up shop. 

Excellent. Sokka was ready and waiting when Zuko left the shop. He did not look surprised to see him. He seemed resigned. And angry. 

The anger was expected. 

“What’s your plan? What are you _doing_ here?” 

“If we had one, do you think I would _tell_ you?” Zuko’s eyes glowered. He stepped forward into Sokka’s space. It took every ounce of self control not to sidestep away from the firebender. “How _dare_ you speak to me like this, you — ”

Sokka could already hear the curses and insults. Peasant, buffoon, fool. Dirt on the sole of Zuko’s once gleaming boots. Sokka snuck a glance down. If Zuko wore gleaming boots, he couldn’t see for the ragged edges of the tunic covering his toes. 

He took a step forward, into Zuko’s space. Wasn’t Zuko taller? He was still taller than Sokka, but Sokka was catching up quickly. With that fanning his own flames, Sokka grinned wickedly. “No. Don’t _you_ talk to me like that. Don’t you know who I am?” Again, the lilt came back, his voice posturing, needling, “I’m a _companion_ to the Avatar. I’m expected back at the palace. Who are _you_?” 

Lying to the enemy never hurt anyone. Better for Zuko to think Aang and the rest were behind palace walls being guarded by lock and key. Zuko didn’t need to know their troubles. Sokka expected _something_ when he mentioned the dreaded “A-Word.” He waited for Zuko’s eyes to flash, for the attack to begin. But Zuko just stood across from him, sullen. 

“No one.”

“What?” Sokka was so surprised his mouth almost dropped open. 

“I am no one. I am Lee, a refugee from the Earth Kingdom. Nothing more and no one more.”

The shock was enough to knock the earth off its axis. Regardless, Sokka’s voice turned hard. “Do you really expect me to believe that?” 

Zuko looked ready to throw a tantrum. He didn’t physically stamp his foot, but Sokka could imagine it so well. “Follow me, watch me, I don’t care. But _don’t_ take this from my uncle.”

Sokka should call for guards. Sokka should have both of them thrown in prison. Long Feng and the others may be incredibly unhelpful, but this threat at least they may take seriously. If there was no war in Ba Sing Se, then there should be no war criminals either. 

It was insane what Sokka was considering. He couldn’t say for sure why he did it, why he allowed Zuko to walk away. Perhaps because Sokka had no plan tomorrow except hope for an audience with the Earth King and for news on Appa. Both were a long shot, and now at least he had a plan. _Surveillance_. 

“Fine. But I _will_ be watching. I will be following.” Sokka turned to leave. At the mouth of the alley, he turned back. Zuko still stood, alone. “Don’t even think of following _me_. Or this show is over.” 


	3. Chapter 3

Zuko should be concerned. His enemies underestimate him. Sokka was fortunately or unfortunately an obvious tail; he had little skill at ducking behind stalls and into alleys at the right time. Zuko had caught sight of his ridiculous hair at least three times now, and hints of blue fabric more than that. Perhaps it was enough for a less worthy opponent, but for the Blue Spirit, Sokka might as well coat himself in fireflies and screech like a cat-monkey. 

It took every ounce of restraint and self-preservation to not follow the other when he’d first accosted him in the shop’s alleyway. The Avatar was still his ticket out of this hellhole, but while Zuko was good, he was not so good he could get into the Earth King’s palace and out with the Avatar in tow. Surely he _could_ , but then getting out of the city with the Avatar was an entirely different task. Tailing Sokka was too early, too soon. 

He needed to think like Azula. He needed to keep them guessing. In the meantime, he was enjoying leading Sokka on a wild chase through the lower ring’s market. 

Sokka was treated to watching him barter for fresh canisters of oolong tea. Of being wafted the scent of jasmine green as he tried to determine if it was to his uncle’s standards. Then he collected dried noodles, fresh vegetables, a new set of spark rocks. 

Shopping done, Zuko decided on a whim to spin on his heel. Immediately he was down an alley, then he circled back behind a stall. He saw Sokka from behind, looking left to right. Zuko bumped into his shoulder roughly as he passed, muttering a quiet, “Sorry, sorry.”

Zuko grinned as he heard the groan behind him, and then the slap as Sokka hit his own forehead with the palm of his hand. 

As often as Sokka trailed Zuko, he also spent time away. No doubt on diplomatic business. The mere thought made Zuko’s thoughts riot, but he quieted them. His uncle said to be in balance. Zuko tried. 

Jet was a different trouble. Zuko was well aware the other was tracking him and had been since the ferry and his uncle’s damned need for a hot cup of leaf juice. Jet didn’t know who he was dealing with, and Zuko and his uncle were both adhering to a monk-like life of restraint. Firebending had not passed through Zuko’s breath or fingers for weeks. 

It felt like months. 

Taking care of the Jet problem would be its own difficulty. He needed the situation to escalate, for Jet to tighten his own noose. In the meantime, Zuko struggled not to escalate on his own. 

On a warm afternoon, Zuko wandered through Ba Sing Se’s streets, coins jangling in his pockets. Zuko didn’t have a shift, and as was becoming usual, his uncle pushed him out of the door with coin and a patronizing, “Be safe.”

That wasn’t fair. Uncle likely didn’t mean to be patronizing, but Zuko was not going to _make friends_ regardless of what the old man said. These people should respect him, respect who he was born, should respect his family and their inherent strength. But taking to the streets was better than sitting in their cramped apartment. 

And he would be lying if he said he wasn’t waiting to see a familiar shadow. 

Zuko was examining a caged mouse-bird when he felt a shadow pass. Not the stumbling efforts of the Avatar’s towel boy, but the more aggravating one. Jet had yet to make a move. And he wouldn’t do so in a crowded marketplace. 

Probably. 

“Spice freak, are you?” 

No such luck. Zuko turned, scowling, another handful of spicy, crunchy peanuts halfway to his mouth. The paper parcel sat in the crook of his arm. The shop had advertised them as _hot, flaming, burn your hair off! THAT sort of hot!_ Zuko had forgotten he was eating them. 

“What’s it to you?” he asked, keeping his voice level in the marketplace. 

“Just a little odd, Lee. What region of the Earth Nation did you say you were from?” 

Zuko scoffed, turning down an alleyway away from Jet. Away from crowds. “You’re crazy. Lots of people eat spicy food.” That _was_ true — they just didn’t do it as good as the Fire Nation. 

“Don’t,” Jet hissed, “call me crazy.” With that he’d swept into the alley with Zuko, grabbed his shoulder and twisted him. Zuko almost fought back, but something stalled. Then his back hit the wall; Jet was in front of him, utterly incensed. 

“You. Are. _Crazy_.” 

Jet’s face blackened with fury, his hands nearly going to his hooks. Zuko wished he would, that he would give him a _reason_ to fight back. Instead, Jet’s expression clouded, anger still staining it. His hands balled into fists, then opened, his fingers flexing with pent up energy. 

Do it. _Fight_. 

Instead, Jet stepped forward, further into Zuko’s space — and he panicked. Zuko’s feet should have darted out, tripped Jet. He could spin and be out of this hold. Instead his stupid body jerked, his hands risiing and bracing on Jet’s forearms. To push him away. That was why. _To push him away._

Jet snickered. 

He leaned forward, mouth ghosting against Zuko’s mangled ear. “ _Fire Nation whore_.”

Almost. _Almost_. The fire coiled in Zuko’s belly, rising up, licking at his throat. It would be so easy to burn Jet’s face to nothing. Zuko made his body move, his footwork impeccable as he swept out of Jet’s grasp. Jet’s face was fury renewed, and he should be angry. 

He’d almost succeeded in making Zuko firebend his face off. 

* * *

“Nephew,” Uncle Iroh said, voice distraught, “what will you do while I’m away?”

There was no need to respond. As usual, his uncle was full of theatrics. Never the less, Zuko couldn’t help himself. “The same thing I do every evening, uncle. Examine these _water stains_.” Leaning back on his mat, Zuko gestured up at the ceiling above them, the wood dark warped. 

“That simply will not do. What will you _eat_?” 

“Uncle,” Zuko sighed, closing his eyes. “I fed myself for weeks on the road. I can take care of myself tonight.” 

“But it is not just tonight! The tournament may last many nights, and your Uncle Mushi will keep those players, and their tiles, on their toes.”

“Uncle. I know how to make rice.”

Iroh’s voice pitched low, warm. “But Prince Zuko, you burn rice.” 

Zuko and his complaint were ready, but his uncle dropped a small wallet beside him on the ground. “Get yourself something hot, my nephew.” Then as he readied himself to leave: “Make friends.” 

There was no point in yelling after him, but he did anyway — “I’m not a child!” — it didn’t make him feel better necessarily. But he was hungry, and no, he had never quite mastered rice. 

That was how Zuko found himself wandering the streets of the lower ring in the dark, lit by lantern light and buffeted by after-work chatter and instruments in the distance. Zuko wondered what the middle ring was like, and the upper. When he was Fire Lord he would be welcomed at a sprawling residence in the upper ring, no doubt. Or perhaps in guest rooms in the palace. 

Or perhaps he’d have the throne, if they didn’t instate a puppet head. 

The thought left him feeling vaguely ill. He couldn’t exactly pin why. 

Zuko stepped out of the way of a train of children, and in doing so, noticed his blue-clad shadow. He cursed, but weaving through the stalls told him that no, Jet at least, was not stalking him this evening. But Zuko was in no mood for games or finding the delicate balance between remaining distantly polite while also holding on to any semblance of his pride. 

Jet was still on his mind with his sloped, sharp grin and his roaming hands. If only he knew who he was dealing with. Conversely, if he knew who he was dealing with, he would skin Zuko alive regardless of consequence.

No. Zuko was not in the mood to play games. But he was still hungry. Sokka could watch him eat from across the street if he was so desperate to. Zuko ducked into a small shop he’d been eyeing for weeks. He chose a small two person table, and ordered for one — spicy noodles.

Word was they were the spiciest in the city. 

Zuko stiffened when blue fabric invaded his periphery. “Really?” he hissed, as Sokka took the seat at the empty table behind him. Now they were back to back. “You couldn’t watch me eat from, I don’t know, two hundred yards away?”

“A man’s gotta eat.” Sokka’s voice was so irritating, everything about him frustrating. His words were stupid. He was no more a man than Zuko was, and Zuko felt — Zuko felt lost. 

“Do you enjoy being an insolent ass?” Zuko turned in his chair to seeth at Sokka. 

Sokka turned to banter back. While his expression was still sharp — he looked much more at ease than Zuko felt. “Oh, do you get off — on being an uptight _jerk_? Relax, why doncha?” As he spoke, the hand resting on his knee tapped. 

Zuko was righteously annoyed. It was a blessing that fire didn’t erupt out of his ears. “ _Don’t_ tell me to relax. Don’t — what are you _doing_?” 

“I thought I’d enjoy — a fine meal this evening. It’s not about you.” Fingers _tap, tap, tap_. 

“Are you — ” Zuko saw red. “Are you receiting _haiku_ at me?” 

“These haikus are not for you —” 

The fingers were tapping but Zuko cut him off with a near screech. “ _It’s not ‘haikus!’_ ‘Haiku’ is already plural!”

Sokka, unfortunately, looked like a cat with cream. “Maybe you should leave — all these here haikus to me. I am the master.”

Zuko was going to kill him. The waitress returned and Zuko turned back to his table seething. But the young woman was talking to both of them over the din of the restaurant. “Sorry sirs, the dinner rush is picking up and…” she flashed a frazzled grin. She looked exhausted under her manic eyes. “You seem to know each other, could you combine tables? I really need this one for another....”

Indeed, a crowd was pooling at the mouth of the restaurant. Other waitstaff were dragging tables together for a larger group. Zuko almost stood up then to leave. 

But in the silence, Sokka beat him to action. “Sure, miss, we wouldn’t mind a bit.” Sokka swept up, all smiles and lidded eyes. Gross. He was flirting. 

She didn’t seem to mind, tittering as Sokka helped her move the table across the floor. Laughing at a joke he told. Zuko was in aggravated shock when he returned to throw himself in the chair across from Zuko. 

“So what’s good?”

Zuko ordered for him. 

“ _Spirits on fire!_ ” Sokka spat not long after, a noodle still hanging from his mouth as he lunged for the pitcher of water. Zuko watched him flail, quietly, as water splashed over the pitchers side onto the table. He gathered noodles with his own utensils, piling them up to his mouth. If he watched too closely, he would laugh. Which strangely felt like losing. Or letting his guard down. 

“You are evil,” Sokka spat, face still red after the enormous first bite. Then he was scowling across the table. “How are you doing that?” 

Zuko chewed and swallowed. “Well, I put the food in my mouth, and then I — ”

“Shut up,” Sokka said, except it sounded more like _shaddup!_

“Then I chew it and swallow it.”

“Smart ass jerk.”

The table fell silent. Zuko was pleased with himself. He wasn’t sure what made him offer in a low voice, “Honestly, it’s hot for the sake of being hot. It’s not very good.” 

“Isn’t all spicy food hot for the sake of being hot?” 

“No, not at all. Good spice is complex. This is just cruel.”

“So why can you eat it?”

Zuko shrugged, slurping another noodle and then scowling. Slurping was technically polite, but it was also comfortable. He was not comfortable. And Sokka’s displeasure was beginning to look annoying. The waitress passed and he flagged her down. “Lemon water. For my,” his teeth grit, “friend. Please.”

“Oh, we don’t carry lemon, sir,” she said, looking nervous. That made sense and Zuko cursed at himself. That would be an expensive import, wouldn’t it? “Is it too spicy for you, sir?” Now she looked at Sokka who didn’t want to admit defeat. 

“It’s only... a little spicier than I thought it would be. I can handle spice.” 

Zuko rolled his eyes at the wink. “Vinegar then?” 

That they had, and as she bounced away Sokka hissed at him, “I’m not drinking _vinegar_.” 

“Just a bit in water. It’ll cut the heat.” 

Sokka appeared dubious. When it arrived, he dashed some in his water and made a face when he drank it. Then, slowly, he ate noodle by noodle, punctuated by a splash of vinegar water. 

The silence stretched and Zuko wasn’t keen to break it. He had nothing to say to his enemy. Nothing because he was trying by inaction to convince him they weren’t enemies any longer. 

A difficult sell. 

“So?” 

Zuko narrowed his eyes. “So what?” 

“You’re really not going to ask me?”

Zuko knew what he meant. _Where is the Avatar!_ How many times had he screamed those words and made demands?

“If I ask, I’m up to no good. If I don’t ask, I’m up to no good. What do you want me to say?” 

“Honestly?” Sokka had the good sense to lower his voice as he stared at Zuko. “I want you to tell me what your evil plan is. So I can stop watching you and can start stopping you.” 

“And if there’s no plot?” It wasn’t even lying — there was no plot. Yet. 

“Then I wonder what in the realms I’m doing here eating dinner with you.” 

Zuko snickered before realizing it. His smile settled back into a frown. “Well. There’s no plot. Sorry to disappoint you.”

“I can’t believe that.” 

“Why not?” Annoyance pricked Zuko’s skin. He needed to sell this. Somehow. That he’d ‘changed.’ That he wasn’t interested in reclaiming his birthright. Zuko had fought for everything in his life. Pretending felt like losing. He preferred action. 

“You’re all nuts,” Zuko almost took umbrage then. Funny though, that he’d so annoyed Jet with that line just the other day. “Honor this, honor that, you don’t know what it _is_ if it isn’t dished out from your psycho father. Why do you think I’d believe you’d changed for no reason?”

Zuko didn’t have an answer. He oscillated violently from anger to — something more delicate. Maybe sorrow. It had been years since he’d seen his father, heard his voice. The voice that made his nerves feel raw. When he thought of his father, he thought of him on the throne. Or before him. Hand outstretched. To hurt. 

Sokka was still staring at him. Zuko realized with a jolt that his hand had trailed to his cheek, pressing against the poorly healed skin there. He didn’t remember much from the aftermath, just the pain and the screaming and the whimpering, all of which came from him. 

“ _A miracle his eye didn’t melt,_ ” a healer had said.

Zuko set his chopsticks down. He wasn’t finished with his bowl. 

Zuko’s feelings towards his father were difficult. Full of shame, uncertainty. But the Fire Nation was more than his father. It was his mother’s homeland. A beautiful, lush series of islands. One he could never return to. Not without the Avatar. Without his honor. 

He may never see his homeland again. 

No. He would. Zuko had fought for everything in his life, and he wouldn’t stop fighting now. He picked his chopsticks up again, collecting noodles. Sokka wanted Zuko to convince him? Convince him he’d left his people behind? 

That he’d left his father behind?

Very well. 

His stomach turned to say the words aloud, but fire also filled him. He was smarter. He could outmaneuver. He knew what he was doing. 

“You and your… friends. You never heard how I got this scar?” 

Sokka’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t speak. That was a ‘no’ then.

“In a war meeting, I opposed a general’s proposal. It doesn’t matter what it was, only that I disrespected him, and as a result, I disrespected my father. The crown. My father told me to submit to an Agni Kai,” at Sokka’s blank look, he explained, “an honorable duel. I was willing to duel the general. I was not — ” Zuko did not mean for his voice to stutter. He frowned through it. “I was not willing to duel my father. I would not fight him.”

Sokka’s mouth opened, then closed. His expression was still masked, showing nothing. 

“I was punished. And I was banished.” Zuko’s hand gripped around his glass, he raised it to sip. Strange how sick he felt to say it outloud to his enemy. 

“Your father did that to you?” The gears were turning behind Sokka’s eyes. That was good. Convincing him could be a door to more possibilities. 

“Do you see now, perhaps, why my uncle and I consider ourselves refugees?”

Truly that was icing on top. Zuko would have patted himself on the back if it wouldn’t give him away. It was believable. 

It was very believable. 

They returned to their meal, Sokka silent and Zuko relieved. He couldn’t keep it up for much longer. He would never betray his people. He could do the best for them by returning to his family. But Sokka could make his own conclusions — ones that fell in Zuko’s favor. 

“If it’s not right, why don’t you find better?” 

Zuko was confused until he saw Sokka gesturing at the bowl of noodles. Zuko must still be making faces at the tasteless heat. “It’s hard to find it done well. But… the right seasonings might be imported.”

“So what? It’s not like you can cook.”

“How would you know?”

“Really? Can you cook?”

“Of course I can cook.”

“I’d love to see you try. You probably burn rice.”

“Can _you_ cook?”

“Spirits no. I’m lucky to have a sister who won’t let me starve.”

The words hung between them, just awkward enough. Zuko had a sister too. The last time they’d all been in the same place… Zuko pulled coins from uncle’s purse and dropped them on the table. Sokka did the same. Neither spoke as they wound through the streets, once pausing to look at a weapons display. No speaking, just quiet, then Zuko turned to his side of town and Sokka departed for the monorail. 

Silent. 

* * *

The apartment was quiet. Zuko laid in the dark on his futon, still fully clothed. The candle wick burned low, he was alone with his thoughts. Until the door was unlatched and uncle returned. He held a small candle in his hand to light his way. When he saw Zuko awake, he sighed. “Oh nephew, it’s not good for the heart to lay around in the dark.”

“My heart is fine, uncle.” 

“Are you certain? A symptom of lovesickness is often wasting away in the dark…”

“Uncle! _No_.” No, he wasn’t lovesick. Was he heartsick? He felt horrid, had for months. What was his path forward?

Iroh took off his sandals, put away his bag and what appeared to be winnings. He hummed, no doubt warm from drink and cheer. Uncle could make friends wherever he went; it was a gift. To be happy wherever he was. Unlike Zuko. Didn’t he miss the palace? Their home? He had been kept from it by being chained to Zuko, now he wouldn’t go back unless in chains by Azula. 

“Uncle. Do you really want this to be our life now?”

His uncle’s humming stopped. The man finished putting things away and came closer to Zuko’s futon, lowering himself into a sit. His hand reached out to brush Zuko’s new, irritating fringe out of his eyes. A comfort for a young boy. Zuko turned his head away. 

“What do you mean, nephew?” 

“Is this honestly what you want, uncle? Don’t you want to go home?” 

“Zuko.” Spoken so low, not even listening ears could hear the name, “I believe that someday we will go home. Until then, we must live, and if we cannot live happily, then why go on?” 

Thinking of his father made his skin crawl. He was an embarrassment. He was nothing. Someday, he would prove he wasn’t useless. That he was the rightful heir. 

He didn’t say that. He said, “Uncle, it’s not _fair_.” 

“No, my prince. It is not.” 

Words mirrored from many years before on a boat, Zuko’s face still bandaged, his eye still covered. _A miracle his eye didn’t melt_. Iroh had hummed softly at his bedside. He hadn’t left him. 

Zuko was not a child anymore. He did not need comfort like a child. He sat up, brushing off his uncle’s hand. He stared out the window. “Uncle, do you remember that noodle dish from the palace? The one with red chilis and…” 

That described so many dishes. But Iroh laughed. “Yes, nephew, I remember.” 

“Would it be hard to make?”

“Well, my curious nephew, we may find the chilis we need at the market. The other spices we may need to hunt for… Why the sudden interest in the culinary arts? Are you sure there is no young lady for whom your heart aches?

“Uncle, _no_. There is no young lady.”

“Young person then.”

“Uncle!” Zuko shouted, scandalized. The old man merely chuckled. 

“It is a fashionable city, nephew. Not so traditional as some.” Zuko still looked stricken. What did Iroh know? What did he suspect? “Now cooking. That is an honorable endeavor. We’ll begin tomorrow.” 


	4. Chapter 4

Zuko’s hands were well calloused from years of swordsmanship, firebending, and martial arts. They were less experienced at the art of mortar and pestle. He’d spent many hours grinding charcoal for his calligraphy lessons — supposedly a must for the budding swordsman — but beyond that, it did not come up often.

Across from him, Iroh sat cross legged as well. They ground dried chilis, herbs and spice, carefully sniffing as they went along. There were not many coins between them, but the apartment was paid up for now and business at the shop continued to pick up steam. Zuko even managed to glower less, and the tip jar rose slightly.

It was a frivolous expense, buying imported spice, but Iroh did not question his new desire.

“Yes, ground it down. Just like that,” he said, turning his attention to simmering water. “Tea, nephew?”

“No, uncle. I don’t want more tea. If I smell jasmine once more today, I’ll lose it.”

“That is very dramatic, my tastemaker nephew. I’ll make you a different blend.”

Zuko rolled his eyes.

“Tell me… the jasmine you like so much?”

“Simmering, two minutes or so.” Brew times were becoming second nature to him. 

“Correct. And the delicate white tea we purchased earlier this week?”

“When the bubbles first begin to show. Less time, a minute.”

“And?”

“Give them hot water at the table, for their second steep.”

“Excellent, nephew. We’ll make a tea master out of you yet.”

“That pompous fool doesn’t like it, you know.” Zuko kept his eyes on the pestle. If he looked up, he’d need to admit he was talking about his commoner job and his commoner boss in earnest. “That you give them second and third steeps for free.”

“You cannot pay a man for water. And cruel and stingy is the one who charges a man for his full, tea journey.”

“I think he wants to — “

Uncle cut him off, “ _Evil_ is the man who charges full price for used tea leaves.” Uncle sat a tray down next to him, a steaming cup. Zuko made a face, but tried it all the same. The scent was intense, heady and rich, not gentle and perfumed like the jasmine.

Zuko sipped, made a face, considered, then sipped again. “What is it?”

“A more common tea than is typical for someone of your station.” Uncle was truly selling it. At Zuko’s face, he chuckled. “But tea should not be constrained to one’s station.”

“What’s the… taste?” Zuko didn’t know how to talk about tea. He served it, he drank it when Iroh sat it beside him. It was a perfectly fine beverage. He took another sip.

“Ah, that’s toasted rice. Now notice the ratios of green leaf to rice.”

Zuko hummed, sipping again. His finger tapped as he filtered his uncle’s words: _five-seven-five_.

“Alright. Join me by the fire — let’s begin cooking.”

Cooking did not come naturally to Zuko. It was hard to ease up, to be flexible. Was it a science or an art? Iroh talked in so many circles, he wasn’t sure which one it was. Their first attempt was not quite what Zuko remembered, but he and uncle hemmed and hawed over it before eating it all regardless.

The second try, Zuko tried alone another day. It was inedible.

But there wasn’t much to do besides attempt cooking, plot his rise to power, and, he supposed, drink tea.

* * *

The next time Jet visited him, it was at the tea shop. Zuko knew the other had finally lost it. Which was good for him and Iroh. The old fool Pao stared on stupidly, customers squinted in confusion. Jet was sick of waiting. He’d tied and prepped his own noose.

Zuko’s blood sang. He needed this.

“You'll have to defend yourself. Then everyone will know. Go ahead, show them what you can do.”

Show them? Zuko was happy to. Perhaps it would be better for the authorities to handle Jet, but Zuko knew that Jet was good. Not as good as Zuko, but good.

And Lee was a refugee. Lee knew how to defend himself. He could get away with that. That was a fine explanation for his fighting skill.

Without thinking further, Zuko stepped up and pilfered drawn swords from the common guards. He settled into a stance. Yes, he would defend himself. He didn’t need firebending for the likes of Jet.

Then it began, and Zuko was lost to the battle, his brain not thinking, just acting, all attention on taking in stimulus and responding in kind. Jet hit hard, so Zuko took the high ground, jumping from table to table. Jet went to eliminate the environmental advantages, and Zuko showed him that he was _never_ without environmental advantages.

Zuko looked at Jet and saw fury. Zuko looked at Jet and _felt_ fury.

Jet’s hook skimmed too close. Zuko deflected, but tumbled out of the shop. This fight needed to be louder, crazier. They needed to get attention.

“Please, son, you're confused! You don't know what you're doing!” Zuko quietly cheered. Uncle understood.

The blades came faster, one slicing too close. Zuko locked the hook down with one of his swords, immobilizing it. But now they too were locked together.

“Do they know?” Jet said darkly, voice made to hurt. “That right under their noses they have a firebending wh — ” Zuko faltered, just enough that Jet pushed him back. He pushed back _harder_ , twisting his blade hard. Both the blade and the hook went flying. After that was a blur. One sword to one hook, Zuko hammered at Jet was little finesse, no mark of his training, just volatile anger as he clanged metal to metal.

He would kill him.

Realizing he was losing his grip on the situation, Jet flung himself backwards. Announcing to all his delusions, that Zuko and his uncle were firebenders, here to infiltrate the city. Zuko wanted to kill him, and he would have had a Dai Li agent not arrived.

“Drop your weapons.”

Uncle was at his side now. Jet was yelling. Zuko’s brain was buzzing, like his skull was full of insects. He couldn’t hear the agent. Couldn’t divine what Jet was saying. He could hear uncle’s tone though, could feel his hand on his back, then on his wrist.

Zuko dropped his weapon.

Jet was dragged away. Zuko looked on in disgust.

That evening, Iroh set a steaming cup of tea beside him, this time smelling of lavender. _Disgusting. I don’t drink flowers_. He was sure he’d said those words before. He nodded absently at Iroh as he took the cup and sipped.

“Nephew, what that boy was saying — ”

“It was nothing, uncle.”

“Of course. But if — ”

“I don’t think he’ll bother us again. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Very well.” Iroh sighed, settling down for bed himself while Zuko sat at the balcony door. “How do you steep herbal tea?”

“Uncle, that one’s easy.” Zuko looked up at the silver glint of moon, the stars washed out from the city light. “Boiling hot and for as long as you want.”

* * *

Without Jet haunting him, Zuko’s days slowed. He no longer looked over his shoulder, no longer made contingency plans for how to take care of him. Zuko should be relieved. He _was_ relieved. He’d outmatched Jet at his own, stupid game.

The days stretched on.

Even Sokka seemed to be trailing him less. Which, why? Did he have _better_ things to do? It made Zuko seethe, because, yes, probably yes, Sokka _did_ have better things to do. Important things. Diplomatic things. The peasants got to play pretend in the palace while he languished in a shop. When he did tail Zuko, he no longer surprised him in restaurants. Nothing that would cause a verbal spar that Zuko would no doubt win.

Once or twice though, they’d both given up pretenses and wandered the lower ring together. They bought skewered morsels of barbequed meat and examined precious stones. Made affirming noises at metalworking craftsmanship.

They spoke rarely. When they did, Sokka said things like, “You should come see this shop in the middle ring.” And Zuko would grunt, and they would carry on.

He should have been putting more energy into his Avatar plan. Instead he was seeing enemies where they weren’t.

“You're right, Lee. I've seen that girl in here quite a lot.” In the tea shop with his uncle, Zuko looked into a metal pot behind the tea shop’s counter, at the smudge he knew was the suspicious girl. Abruptly, it seemed like she was everywhere. In and out of the tea house, sometimes twice a day. No one drank that much tea. Besides uncle. “Seems to me she has quite a little crush on you.”

“ _What_?” Zuko was so bewildered he let his guard down, though he didn’t jump when the girl appeared behind him. Then somehow, _somehow_ , he ended up on a date.

Uncle wrestled with his hair, both of them unsure of young men’s fashion. If it were longer, Zuko could tie it up in a top knot. But that might have been too auspicious for Lee the refugee. Uncle tried his best. “Listen to her and ask her questions, my nephew. Remember, you are a funny and charming young man.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not interested in this girl!” Zuko seethed. If it made his uncle happy, he would get out of the house. But that didn’t mean he would like it. “What would I talk to her about anyway? My hunt for the _Avatar_?”

“Well, my prince, I see no Avatar here now. He best not concern you.” If only uncle knew what Zuko knew. Why _hadn’t_ Zuko told him? Zuko jolted uncomfortably at the thought.

“I am the prince of your enemy. Pass the noodles.”

“Maybe drop the first part. Consider adding a ‘please’ to the second.”

Zuko huffed and puffed and eventually left. Jin mussed up his hair — it was horrible, and he didn’t know what to say to her. Was she even cute? Objectively, he supposed so. She had a face, with eyes and lips. A body too. Girls and dating had never concerned Zuko much. As a kid, he’d had no puppy loves, just fawned over Lu Ten’s friends when they would visit the castle. The older boys, with their stories and swords and easy grins had occupied him instead.

Which — Zuko ate his food faster, trying to think about anything other than his lack of interest in women or in the circus arts. Why had he told Jin such a lame cover story?

He didn’t want to be cruel though, and when she showed him her dowdy fountain he’d groaned inwardly, cursing the world and all in it. She looked so _sad_. While he didn’t like her, he didn’t _dislike_ her. He didn’t want her to be _sad_.

“Close your eyes.” Zuko looked around the fountain. No one. No one at all. They were alone, save for —

Zuko’s heart lurched uncomfortably. Sokka was following him, clothed in shadow down the alley they’d walked through. No one else though. No one else who shouldn’t know.

He summoned the energy and it alighted like an old friend. Fire coursed through his belly, his limbs, his mouth. He channeled it, and quickly as could be, his footwork silent, he filled the fountain with light.

Jin smiled. That was what he’d wanted, for her to smile. She was reaching out to touch him before he knew it, pressing her lips to his. For a moment, for a strange, lurching moment he was back on that ferry, his body coiled tight, reacting first. He kissed back, then he was gone, jerking backwards.

“What’s wrong?”

What was wrong? She deserved an answer didn’t she? Zuko imagined he could feel eyes on his back. He felt too warm, like the firebending wasn’t gone, like it wouldn’t leave.

“It's complicated. I have to go.”

Zuko took to the streets.

Colors streamed by him as he tore through a busy market alley, then down a residential road. There was no centering his thoughts, they ricocheted around his skull, giving him no peace, no clarity. Three blocks from the fountain, a hand gripped his shoulder in the dark. Sokka twisted him, pushed his back against the rock wall. Blue eyes glinted in the dim torchlight. “Are you _insane_?” he asked. “You could have gotten caught!”

Very true. And it had felt so _good_ to do it.

Without thinking, Zuko kissed him. His hands darted up to the other’s shoulders and dragged him close. It was just a press, lip to lip, nothing else, but Zuko felt his skin alight.

Jerking backwards, Sokka pressed a hand on Zuko’s chest. “Are you kidding me?” Sokka shook his head angrily, side to side, and Zuko prepared to dodge a punch. Instead of striking, Sokka pressed forward, licked into Zuko’s mouth, all teeth and tongue and heat.

Before, Jet had taken the lead. Now, Zuko didn’t know what to do with his hands. With a jolt, Zuko realized that Sokka _did_ know what he was doing. He tugged on his lip with his teeth and his hands roamed across his torso, bunching in the more formal tunic uncle had purchased that afternoon.

They still needed air. When Sokka leaned back his eyes were lidded. Zuko knew this could be _more_ —

“I should leave — ”

“No. I want — it.”

Sokka looked like he was going to have a heart attack. “Ok. Where? Your place?”

Zuko blanched. “No. My — my uncle is…”

Sokka made a face, then seemed to realize his hands were still buried in Zuko’s tunic. He dropped them to his sides, breaking contact. It seemed, suddenly, that they may never have been there at all. That they may never return. Zuko’s hand darted out, grabbed Sokka by the wrist. He pulled him down the alley. “Come with me.”

They dashed through the city streets. If Zuko stopped, he wouldn’t be able to start again. Sokka kept pace. They dodged a night stall vendor, pushed past a drunk. Zuko pulled Sokka with him into an inn, hand on his coin pouch.

He looked at the custodian as little as possible. If they had thoughts about what the two young men flushing furiously were up to, he said nothing, just tapped his finger as Zuko counted out coins. His fingers stuttered as the pouch got lighter. He only had so many.

“Here,” Sokka muttered, pulling out coins from his pouch as well.

They fled to their assigned room without looking back.

The room was cheap, the walls thin, the bedding simple and spare. It was a lower ring dive, the sort of place meant for exactly this.

“So…” Sokka said, voice thin and nasally with embarrassment as Zuko went to the corner of the room and lit a lantern with a rub of his fingers. There were other lanterns. He didn’t light them. He didn’t want that much light. He’d lit enough lanterns for one night. “So you’ve… done this before?”

Zuko nodded. It was no longer a lie. “Have you?”

“With girls.”

“Fine. So, you can.”

“ _What?”_

“Fuck me. You can _fuck_ me.” Saying it out loud made it real. Made it easier for Zuko to play the part of a nonchalant seasoned veteran.

“Can you use that?” Sokka squeaked, pointing at the lamp oil Zuko had retrieved.

“Of course.”

Zuko had no idea. But he set it down next to the bedding nonetheless. Then came his sash. He schooled his fingers into military stiffness as he stripped. Each piece was torture, the heat from the alleyway long gone. After the sash dropped the tunics went. Zuko’s hand hovered over the tie at his waist. Sokka interrupted.

“Ok. Hold on. _Hold on_.” He stepped forward, pressed a hand to Zuko’s bare chest, pushed him backwards and down until he was seated on the bedding. Sokka kept pushing, until Zuko laid on his back, looking up at him. “Let’s slow this down.”

Sokka kissed him again. This time slower, but still deep, tongues entwining. Zuko shuddered when Sokka’s hand brushed the small of his stomach, ran up his toned chest. Sokka didn’t seem to know whether or not he should pay attention to Zuko’s nipples — neither did Zuko, but he arched when Sokka’s nail scraped him there.

“Ok, now we’re getting somewhere,” Sokka said, seemingly to himself. Sitting up, he straddled Zuko’s knees. With a thoughtful look, Sokka seemed to change. He became focused. Both hands pulled down Zuko’s trousers, and Zuko jerked when his hand gripped him.

He hadn’t been hard before, the arousal having dripped away as they’d made their flight to the inn. But now he was flushing, his cock hardening with every pull from the other’s hand.

“I’m bigger.”

“No you’re not,” Zuko snapped. Sokka loosened his pants, drawing out his cock to press them together, to jerk them together. Zuko couldn’t tell who was bigger. He didn’t care.

“Shit,” he cursed, head tilting back. His hands gripping Sokka’s thighs. It felt good, too good. He swatted Sokka’s leg and reached. “The oil.”

Sokka snatched it. “I’ll do it.” He shimmied backwards, hand running down Zuko’s thigh, making him shiver. Oil dripped from his fingers, he was looking down with a hunger.

Zuko felt it too.

“Tell me if I hurt you.”

“As if you could.”

“Shut up, jerk.” Then Sokka was breaching him, one tentative finger. It was different from before. Jet wasn’t rushing him through, to get from point A to point fucking Zuko. Sokka’s fingers were nervous then slowly became confident, additional fingers probing. The entire time, Sokka’s expression stayed focused, like he was staring at a puzzle, a map, something complex and delicate, not Zuko’s ass.

He was looking with care.

“No more slow,” Zuko urged, foot kicking Sokka’s back.

“Sheesh.”

Then it was time. Sokka pressed Zuko’s legs back, lined his oiled cock up and pushed.

The sound Zuko made was long, drawn out, _aching_.

“Ok?” Sokka panted, eyes closed as he bottomed out.

“Yes, you absolute _idiot_.”

“Ok, ok,” Sokka murmured, hips cycling, hands cupping under Zuko’s ass. Sokka fucked him thorough and slow, sweat collecting on his brow. Zuko would have thought it wouldn’t be enough, that he needed hard and fast, vicious and aching. He tried to urge Sokka on with his heel, to make him go faster, harder.

“Are you going to fuck me or not?”

“I _am_ fucking you, if you didn’t notice.” Sokka tugged him closer, kept moving at his devastating pace. It should be frustrating, it should be annoying, but the longer it went on the brighter the stoked embers in his gut gleamed. Zuko’s body felt like it was on fire, like his firebending was ready to overflow. “That’s it,” Sokka muttered. His hair had come out of his wolf tail, framing his face and sticking to his brow. “Spirits, yes.”

Zuko gasped, the sound brittle and cracked, more whine than anything else.

“You have no idea how you feel — _ow._ ” Zuko gripped Sokka’s forearms tightly. The words echoed noisily around in his skull, cruelly intoned in a familiar voice. Jet had held him tight, Jet had fucked him hard, Jet’s voice was cruel in his ear, because it could be. “Zuko, _what_?”

“Fuck me _harder_ ,” he growled, bucking up. “You know you want to. Fuck me, use me, call me your fire nation _whore_.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Sokka snarled. Before he could rear up and away, Zuko had a hand on the back of his neck drawing him back down. They kissed, now with teeth and biting and viciousness. Zuko felt the cock leave him, nearly, head still tugging on his rim. He felt empty and wanting, but his back arched deliciously off the bedding when Sokka’s hips slammed back. Then again, and again. Zuko rocked back, driving the heat between them.

Sokka never called him a fire nation whore, but he did bite down on his shoulder as he came, gasping and spent. He fell to Zuko’s side, groaning, hand clumsily going to Zuko’s still hard cock. Zuko was still teetering on the edge, but his voice felt thin when he whispered, “Can you — ”

“I’ve never sucked a dick before,” Sokka said defensively.

“No — not that,” Zuko mumbled, “your other hand… my — ”

“Oh. Ok.” Sokka rolled over between Zuko’s legs, and three fingers slid inside of him. Sokka’s eyes were heavy, focused between his legs. “Not so different from a girl.”

Sokka ignored Zuko’s leg when it kicked at him, and his fingers sped up, fast and brutal, his other hand working Zuko. Sokka's lips were red and wet from their bruising kisses, now they mumbled, “That’s it, come on, come for me — ”

And Zuko did. Back bent with a shout, licks of flame sparking from his mouth. Sokka collapsed beside him.

Sweat pooled on their bodies, the room was warm and humid around them. Where Zuko was nude, Sokka was still clothed, and he tugged off his sash and threw open his tunic. “Damn,” was his eloquent response. “That was my first time with a guy. Was it yours? Doesn’t seem like it.”

Oh no. He was chatty.

“Was it ok for you?”

“Shut up.”

“Just — you know, it was good for me. Want to make sure it’s ok for you. It was, wasn’t it?”

“Shut up.”

“It’s just if — ”

Zuko propped himself up on his forearms and snarled. “I came all over your hand, didn’t I?” Then he flopped backwards, his head hitting the pillow. Sokka was quiet beside him, but Zuko heard the _wumph_ when he fell back against the futon too. This time, after a few beats of silence, Zuko spoke, “So… you? With girls?”

“Yeah. I have a girlfriend. Well, we’re together when we’re together, and not when we’re not, you know? Her idea, I mean, _our idea_. It works.”

“Hm.”

“So yeah, it wasn’t that different for me. But for you — was it comfortable?”

“I came all over your hand, didn’t I?” This time it was said blandly. Zuko looked up at the ceiling.

“So, uh — ”

“No more talking.” Zuko sat up, cleaning himself off quickly with scraps of bedding.

“You’re not staying?”

“No. Are you?”

“Well. No.”

They redressed in silence, then left in silence. Zuko was ready to split up, but Sokka took his street with him, not cutting away to the monorail station. Zuko affected an air of indifference, but the farther they walked the more on edge he became. “Why are you following me?”

“I’m walking you home.”

“What, like I’m some kind of girl?”

“No.” Sokka sounded exasperated now. “I’m just walking you home.”

“So you’ll know where I live?”

“Zuko. I already know where you live.”

Zuko seethed. And he knew where Sokka and the Avatar’s friends were. Up on top. “Don’t call me that.”

“Ok, Lee.”

Zuko turned on his heel, blocking Sokka’s path. “Ok, enough, you can go — ”

Sokka stepped forward into his space, and Zuko almost threw him up and over his shoulder. The kiss was sudden, a surprise, and after a moment, Zuko kissed back. When Sokka backed up, his eyes were steady. “So, will I see you again this week?”

Zuko breathed deeply. He was teetering on an edge, fire nearly flickering from his nose. “Uncle plays pai sho with the locals. In two days, he’ll be gone for the evening.” Then Zuko turned on his heel and tried not to run.


	5. Chapter 5

When Zuko was young he was assigned many tutors. Whether it was penmanship, geography, or mathematics, it didn’t matter, Zuko was a terrible student. Writing was unsteady by his brush, numbers went out of order on his chalkboard. He knew where the four nations were at least. Or the three, and the graveyards of the air nomads.

When his sister was born, Zuko was excited to be a big brother. His mother reminded him often that he would need to watch out for her. Show her the ropes. Protect her.

Azula surpassed him at every turn.

Penmanship, geography, mathematics. Wargames, firebending katas, everything. Azula was the better student, the better heir.

For years, his mother had shielded him, turned him towards literature and poetry. It was her idea that Zuko train with a true master. Azula took to martial weapons well enough, but they were beneath her. For Zuko, swordsmanship and his dual dao swords were a small arena he could excel in.

It had been years since Zuko had trained with Master Piandao, but he remembered his lessons well enough. Calligraphy, arts like painting, and his favorite, swordsmanship.

Cooking was an art Zuko didn’t understand yet. Grinding spices, being judicious with salt. He and uncle made passable spicy noodles, and the next night, rich and savory rice porridge. The Dragon of the West was no more familiar with the art of fine, elevated cooking than Zuko was, but in their small apartment they brewed tea and experimented with ginseng chicken and sesame noodles.

Now, for the first time, Zuko ground spices alone, his uncle running the pai sho circuit. Noodles bought fresh from the market waited for him, and with the steadfast focus he remembered from his youth with Master Piandao, Zuko finely chopped vegetables.

The spices simmered in the pot with the fat. Then went the meat, then the vegetables. Zuko was focused, but not so focused to be unaware.

“I’m really sick of people peeking through my window.”

Sokka flipped into the apartment with a thump. “Really? Happen often?”

“Hm.”

Sokka came up behind him, curious and invasive as he peered over Zuko’s shoulder at the hearth. “Wow. That’s like, actual food.”

“Of course it’s actual food.”

“I didn’t think spoiled princes knew how to cook.”

“ _Hey_.”

“No offense!”

“What did you think I ate on the road while chasing you and the — and your group across the world?”

“I don’t know. Leaves.”

“Idiot. What about you? You couldn’t do better.”

Sokka shrugged. “Probably not. My sister is the one who cooks.”

“My sister doesn’t… do stuff like that.”

“No, she’s more likely to kill us.”

Zuko took a deep breath. “Different topic?” 

“Yeah. Sure. What are you doing now?”

“Cooking the noodles. Stop breathing down my neck.” Sokka lingered too long behind him, before finally stepping back. Zuko felt his shoulders fall, his tension uncoil. He had senses enough to keep track of Sokka regardless of where he was in the room, but feeling the heat of Sokka lingering behind him was… distracting.

And he shouldn’t be distracted.

Fresh noodles shouldn’t cook for long, otherwise they turned to mush. Zuko’s technique was lacking; it was hard to catch the noodles with the long, thick cooking chopsticks. He ended up using a ladle to help. The cooked meat, spicy sauce, and just-soft vegetables were swept together, looking tasty and bright red. The smell was divine.

Sokka whistled appreciatively at the display, nose wrinkling as Zuko went back to slicing. “What’s that?”

“Garnish.”

“Why?”

“So it… looks good?” Both paused, though Sokka started snickering first. Then Zuko snorted and they were both laughing. “I don’t know. I thought you were supposed to add it.”

“I guess it looks good. If you like salad sprinkled on top.”

“You sound like an infant.”

“Wah. Wah.”

The food, it turned out, was the best Zuko had managed to turn out on his own. The noodles weren’t overcooked, with just enough chewy al dente grip. The sauce was spicy and hot, but rich and sweet. The meat wasn’t burnt. The vegetables were still a bit crunchy, but at least weren’t sludgy.

Across from him, Sokka dug in ravenously, only pausing to look up pathetically with his tongue out. Zuko pointed at the water jug between them. His bowl was nearly empty by the time Sokka spoke. “Ok. You win. It’s hot as eternal fire, but yeah — it actually tastes like something.”

“Told you so,” Zuko said smugly, noodle half slurped to his mouth.

Sokka shrugged. It seemed easier for him to accept a loss than it was for Zuko. When Sokka was chewing next, he nodded his head towards the corner of the room, then spoke around noodle mush, “What’s with the swords?”

“What about them? And chew with your mouth closed. Disgusting.” Zuko had polished his dao swords as uncle had prepared to leave. They sat gleaming, ready to be packed away for another night.

“You’re a firebender.”

“So?”

“So. Why do you need swords?”

“I don’t know. Don’t _flaming swords_ sound cool?”

“Ok, well, _yes_ actually. That sounds extremely cool! But excuse me, Mr. Flaming Swords of Death, I’ve never seen them, and you’ve tried to capture us like… literally a million times.”

That stung uncomfortably. Zuko, who regardless of what his uncle said or wanted, still thought capturing the Avatar was the path forward. What his swords meant to him would be impossible to explain to someone like Sokka. For all of Zuko’s firebending skill, he was still the lesser of two. His skill with his swords was his own, it was unique, it made him different. The training gave him peace.

“Swordsmanship is a difficult practice involving delicate skill and deadly focus. I had a master when I was young.”

“What, you didn’t just blow up toy villages and turtle ducks all day for firebending training?”

“What?! No. And keep your voice down.” Jet might be taken care of, but he could be back. And on another matter: to little turtle ducks? He would never! “It is a warrior’s art. I learned a lot from my master. The practice is more than just swordplay, it affects you in every way. It enhances my bending and my focus.”

“Eh, I think I could take you.”

Zuko nearly spat out his noodles. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah, boomerang to sword, let’s go. Where do you spar?”

In front of the tea shop if you counted that scuffle with Jet. Nowhere, otherwise. Zuko hadn’t made friends, and the lower ring was built so haphazardly on top of itself, like a living creature, there was so little open space. “You can’t fight off a sword with a _boomerang_.”

“Sure I can.”

“Definitely not _two_ swords.”

“Well. Fine. Give me one of your swords then.”

“I’m not _giving_ you one of my swords!”

“ _To borrow!_ Sheesh. You’d think I tried to take your blankie.”

“It’s not my _blankie_.” Zuko threw up his arms. He was ready to spar with Sokka here, now, and destroy the apartment in the process — anything to shut him up.

“Come on. Do you want a sparring partner or not? You can even critique my form. That’s what you really want to do, isn’t it?”

“Well...” The thought was actually pretty inviting. Then Zuko glowered, “Maybe.”

“Wanna critique my other forms in the meantime? I’ve got some training katas of my own.” Sokka’s eyebrow waggled, and Zuko groaned. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been hoping for this exactly, but…

“Ugh. Wash your dishes first.”

“Ha! ‘First,’ he says!” Sokka was quick and caught the bowl when Zuko threw it at him. Which was a relief — he didn’t want to explain to his uncle why a bowl was broken. They washed in silence, or Zuko did, while Sokka yammered. But in time, Zuko dumped the dirty water off of his balcony, and turned to find Sokka standing just a step away.

“Away from the window,” Zuko muttered, walking him backwards towards his futon, then up against the wall. There was really no way to misinterpret his intentions this evening. Sokka, who seemed slow to Zuko in most other ways, was undoing his sash, dropping it on the floor. His eyes were hungry.

“You really get people peeping?”

“It’s happened before.”

“I wonder why?” Sokka’s hand slid into Zuko’s undone tunic, running along the muscles there. He bit his lip as his other hand pushed Zuko’s tunic off his shoulders and to the floor. The kiss was simple, almost sweet. Zuko bit back, urging Sokka on, who rose to the occasion. Clothing dropped to the floor, and for the first time, Zuko really saw Sokka, saw the muscular ridges showing through his lean body, saw the pretty slope of his pelvis.

Zuko pushed him back against the wall, determined to feel every part of him.

“Zuko,” Sokka gasped, holding him back from tasting his neck, “wait.”

“What?” With no neck to map with his teeth, Zuko dropped to his knees, anxiety thrumming through him.

“Just hold on, I want to ask you — whoa.” Sokka was heavy in his hand. Zuko felt simultaneously exhilarated and also — panicked. He was going off guess work, over one strange fumbled night. It couldn’t be that hard?

Zuko focused on the glide. That felt good for him, didn’t it? Then with his mouth, it would be good, right?

Sokka, however, wasn’t done. His hand carded into Zuko’s unruly hair and held him tight — Zuko went still, suddenly strikingly vulnerable. He could still bend, he could still fight, but held there, by Sokka’s hand, his cock in his face, Zuko shivered.

“Oh, Spirits,” Sokka looked ready to faint, and he shook his head to clear it. Then he looked stern. “Before we continue, do you _want_ me to call you names?”

“What?”

“Names. You know.” Sokka’s hand was still wrapped in his hair. “You… a fire nation… you know.”

Zuko flushed terribly, Sokka’s hand was tugged along when he jerked to face the ground. “I don’t care.”

“Are you sure? If you… _want_ me to, I can — ”

“I don’t care!” The yell echoed in the quiet room.

“Jeez. Ok, ok. I just wanted to check.” Sokka’s voice was quiet now, the hand loose, petting.

That was almost worse.

Wasn’t it?

Zuko shook his own head, then rose on his knees. He gave another experimental tug, then with no more hesitation he swallowed Sokka’s cock. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. The taste was fine, just skin and human smell. The thickness was good, not unbearable, perfectly manageable. The length was harder. Zuko tried to swallow deeper, eliciting a groan from Sokka above. That was good, but Zuko’s gag reflex was strong and he nearly recoiled.

That was what the hand was for.

It was a cycle, one that Zuko fell into with gusto. Hands, mouth, breathing all existed at once in tandem. He felt himself grow hard, not because he was being stimulated but because it was _stimulating_. Every gasp and pant punched from Sokka reminded Zuko where he was: on his knees, mouth open, taking and taking.

Sokka’s head hit the wall with a thump, hand returning to Zuko’s hair to push him along. “Zu — I’m, _shit_ , I’m going to — ”

Salty, but not distasteful, Sokka coated his tongue. Zuko remembered the ferry, and with a sudden flush of anger he swallowed all of it. Then he pulled off, panting.

Sokka was on him. He pushed him towards the futon, then onto his back. Sokka was not suave post climax. His limbs were loose, octopus-like as he crawled over him, hands searching, body clingy and wanting. “What do you want? My hands again?” Sokka kissed a line up his jaw. “More?”

Zuko fell back, for once, not needing to fight back. “Everything,” he choked out.

Much later, when Iroh returned home, belly full and purse fuller, he found Zuko repolishing his swords. Two bowls sat drying; he asked nothing.

* * *

Zuko spent the following days focused on his work, blending tea, brewing it when his uncle was away. He was away now, having discussions with raving patrons, some with money. The best tea maker in the city they called him.

If Zuko slowed down, he’d think of other things. He could only focus on so many things.

Like sparring. The plan was haphazard, but Zuko loitered by the fountain long after his shift, blades under his cloak, waiting.

Sokka didn’t show. Nor the next day, nor the day after.

Zuko stopped waiting. Uncle commented on his short temper, customers whispered about his poor service. All culminating in a message from the sky. Zuko caught one of the falling pamphlets, falling like leaves. 

The Avatar’s bison.

* * *

“So, the Blue Spirit. I wonder who could be behind that mask…”

Nothing in Zuko’s life was easy, but slipping into the guise of the Blue Spirit was close. Before him, the bison loomed large. It had always seemed large, large enough to do damage and large enough to be a threat. Not now. Now the creature was at Zuko’s mercy, now he would have the leverage he needed.

Uncle following him was unfortunately not as unexpected as he’d wish. Sighing, Zuko loosened the mask. “What are you doing here?”

Iroh looked less than pleased. “I was just about to ask you the same thing. What do you plan to do now that you've found the Avatar's bison? Keep him locked in our apartment? Should I go put on a pot of tea for him?” As if their apartment was large enough for human-sized guests. Zuko looked away, shook his head to rid the thought of his last human guest.

Who hadn’t shown afterwards. “First I have to get it out of here,” he spat, returning his gaze to the towering beast.

Iroh’s voice rose, startling Zuko. “And then what? You never think these things through!” His uncle had always approached him with care and coaxing — the anecdotes of a tottering old man. Now his eyes gleamed, his finger pointed at his nephew. “This is exactly what happened when you captured the Avatar at the North Pole. You had him, and then you had nowhere to go!”

“I would have figured something out!” Zuko yelled back, anger coursing through him. How dare he throw his past mistakes in his face. Zuko _had_ captured the Avatar, and he would and could do it again.

“No! If his friends hadn't found you, you would have frozen to death!”

“I know my own destiny, Uncle!”

“Is it your own destiny, or is it a destiny someone else has tried to force on you?”

Zuko stilled, vibrating with a raw and uncomfortable energy. “Stop it, Uncle. I have to do this.”

The old man took a step forward. Uncle had many faces, and the lazy man was gone. His voice begged, his body stood firm. “Truly, I am begging you, Prince Zuko. It's time for you to look inward and begin asking yourself the big questions. Who are you, and what do _you_ want?”

“ _Stop_.” Zuko shouted, turning on his heel. The swords and mask went flying to the ground, his shoulders shook, danger hovered all around him, paralyzing him, making it impossible to move forward, to step in any direction. Uncle’s questions crashed against him — he did not know, _he did not know_.

A hand fell on his shoulder, turning him, and muscle memory had him leaning into his uncle’s comfortable weight. The hug was awkward, more physical support than anything. Zuko felt pulled in multiple directions, but staring up at the creature, he sighed.

There was no plan.

“Well,” he muttered into the silence, “the Dai Li can’t have it.”

Beside him, his uncle nodded. They got to work. It wasn’t easy — the bison had clearly been transported with earthbending. But with his uncle beside him, locks were picked, rock and metal weakened with concentrated fire.

When all was said and done, the bison escaped. No doubt back to the Avatar. Back to the Avatar’s traveling companions. Zuko has to bite down on his fury.

“You did the right thing, nephew.” The demonic mask felt heavy in Zuko’s hand. “Leave it behind.”

He didn’t know if he believed his uncle’s words, but he threw the blue mask into the lake and watched it sink, becoming another secret of Lake Laogai.

* * *

Later, Zuko barely made it into the apartment before the feverish fire within him lit up and consumed him. The subsequent dreams were cloying, his fever all-consuming. _You're burning up,_ his uncle said, _you have an intense fever_.

 _No shit_ , Zuko thought as his brain melted to mush in his own skull. He gasped for air, nearly drowning himself drinking from a bucket. Rest was fought for, but he didn’t win any, instead sweat poured from him as he sank in and out of sleep.

He dreamt he was the Fire Lord.

It was his birthright, so it was only right he sit on the throne. Before him, commoners brought their problems — so inconsequential. He solved them. He was just, he was courteous, he was strong. From that seat, he could do the right thing. Through this avenue, he could lead the Fire Nation.

Even here, on his throne, he remained plagued. Twin dragons circled him. Though silent, he could hear them, the way their powerful muscles bunched and moved under gleaming scales. The shine made him nauseated.

The Blue Dragon purred in his ear, voice feminine and sharp like broken glass. The Red Dragon roared in his other. To sink or swim? To give in or run? Why should he run? This was his birthright.

“ _Sleep now, Fire Lord Zuko_ ,” Blue purred as Red was banished. “ _Sleep. Just like_ mother.”

Zuko fell, vertigo throwing him side to side. Fire Lady Ursa disappeared before he could catch her, snuffed out like a weak flame. If he were Fire Lord, he could do more. If he were Fire Lord, he could protect her.

Though he reached, she was long gone, only her voice remained, crying out for help. 

Zuko woke trembling. He was fed more tea, more broth, a weak facsimile of their past cooking adventures. There was so little his body could retain, the simple bone broth nearly made his stomach revolt.

“What’s happening?” he coughed out.

“Your critical decision. What you did beneath that lake. It was in such conflict with your image of yourself that you are now at war within your own mind and body.”

Words meant little when your brain ran like a furnace. “What does that _mean_?”

Above him, his uncle was serene. “You are going through a metamorphosis, my nephew. It will not be a pleasant experience, but when you come out of it...” Like a nursemaid, his uncle dabbed at his forehead with a cool cloth. He looked down, fondly. “You will be the beautiful prince you were always meant to be.”

“Uncle, never speak to me again,” Zuko croaked. Uncle, the bastard, laughed.

* * *

When Zuko next woke, the fever felt broken, but his body felt sticky, warm, and useless. Uncle slept beside him, so Zuko was silent as he rolled from his spoiled futon covers. They would need to be washed, and Zuko couldn’t bear for uncle to care for him any more than he already had.

His muscles ached as he moved towards the bathroom, stopping to consider if he needed to puke once more.

No. Zuko splashed water on his face feeling minutely refreshed. Until he looked up.

A man with no scar stared back at him. The golden eyes were his, but they were at odds with the blue tattoo pricked into the skin of his bare skull. Zuko gripped the basin, jolting to his side as he screamed himself awake.

His cheek rested on the floor of the apartment, no uncle rushed to his side. Zuko felt alone.

Zuko was not himself at all.


	6. Chapter 6

Zuko’s skin didn’t feel like his own. It was too taunt, wrapped much too tightly. But he could pretend. When Iroh’s next cooking experiment was flavorless and bland, Zuko smiled while he ate.

“Now that your fever is gone, you seem different somehow.” Uncle shot him a look over his shoulder, cautious and curious. 

That was fine. If this was who he was, he would wear it. If this was what Iroh wanted him to be, he could be it. His voice sounded strange in his mouth, optimistic and light, substanceless. “It's a new day. We've got a new apartment, new furniture, and today's the grand opening of your new tea shop. You should be proud.” 

He ate the tasteless jook. Bland; fit for his created prison. 

“We should be proud, my nephew, I couldn’t have done it without you.” Zuko wondered if Iroh knew he was lying. And why bother? The customers didn’t rave for him, they raved for the tea master. His uncle may have found a place here — a strange, small, miniscule place compared to the throne, but it made him happy. 

For Iroh, Zuko worked in the shop and did not stare out into the throngs of upper ring clientele. Mouths whispered though, and patrons conferred over steaming cups that the bison was seen flying away. The silly Avatar was gone. 

Gone. Because of Zuko. 

Sokka with him. 

Lee from the tea shop stayed behind. Their new storefront was much nicer, with sturdy elegant furnishings and paint that didn’t peel. Their apartment was the same. Small luxuries seemed large when one was used to dirt and sweat and going hungry. It may not have been the pinnacle of elegance, but since when had Zuko deserved that? 

He felt happy for his uncle when they were summoned to brew tea for the Earth King, even relieved that this stroke of business luck came after the Avatar left. Zuko wasn’t nervous, he had faced off against more intimidating adversaries before, but he was relieved he wouldn’t need to pretend in front of Sokka, or explain himself to the Earth King’s honored guest. As they walked towards the palace, Zuko considered the issue of feigning subservience to a political foe, but all that was gone now. 

Uncle, at least, seemed pleased. “Many times I imagined myself here, at the threshold of the palace. But I always thought I would be here as a conqueror. Instead, we are the Earth King's personal guests, here to serve him tea. Destiny is a funny thing.”

“It sure is, Uncle.” Zuko felt like a false strung marionette — and wouldn’t you know? That was seven syllables. 

Meter called for five. _Peeled back to nothing_ , Zuko’s brain supplied, finger tapping against his palm under his sleeves. Maudlin, he was being maudlin, but the words came anyway; and he only needed five more. _Man severed from home_. 

What would his sister think? She would make fun of him endlessly if he ever put any words to brush. She had often made fun of him during lessons. Her friend Mai might like it — he wondered if she was still as dour as she once was. His mother… 

Perhaps the subject wouldn’t have made her happy, per se, but it always pleased her to see his nose in a book or scroll. 

Outside of himself, his uncle remarked on fine wallpaper and paint work, but Zuko should have already been sleepwalking through the act of pouring tea for a stupid old man on a throne. “What's taking so long?”

“Maybe the Earth King overslept?”

As if summoned, a line of Dai Li agents swept into the room and circled both. Too many to be protecting a man, even if he were the Earth King himself... Zuko’s senses prickled. He felt like he was waking up. “Uncle. Something's not right.”

What entered the tea room was an apparition. 

Was he still feverish? Did a powder blue arrow still sit baked into his skull? Would the Dai Li start a jig? Azula strolled in, arms at her side. She swept them upwards when her sickly sweet voice chirped, “It’s tea time!” 

“Azula.” Zuko was on his feet.

“Have you met the Dai Li? They're earthbenders, but they have a killer instinct that's _so_ firebender. I just love it.”

The urge to attack was waking, beginning to clamor within him, but at his side Iroh remained calm. The old man breathed deeply, picked up his cup of tea and eyed it serenely. Uncle’s voice was relaxed, thoughtful, as if they were walking through the Caldera palace gardens, not in a standoff in the Earth King’s tea room. “Did I ever tell you how I got the nickname ‘The Dragon of the West?’”

Azula sighed, inspecting her meticulously manicured nails. “I'm not interested in a lengthy anecdote, Uncle.”

“It's more of a demonstration, really.”

For the first time since entering this horrible city, Zuko felt like himself. He smiled as Iroh took a long sip of tea — then Zuko moved, quickly ducking behind his uncle, back to back. The demonstration burned hot as molten air poured out into the room. 

The distraction was explosive, and the two burst out into the hallway fleeing like quickly moving fire eels. Zuko heard the thud of the Dai Li’s rock cuffs behind, but unlike before, they weren’t entrapping Jet, they were after them. 

Air crackled as his uncle pushed forward, fluidly drawing back and pushing lightning through him. There was no time to take in the technique that General Iroh so rarely executed; the power ripped through the wall and Iroh shot through. 

“Come on! You’ll be fine!” he called from the grounds below, but Zuko’s feet stopped at the edge. He no longer felt placid, he no longer felt like a stranger in his skin. Now, he itched to move, as if still tingling from the produced electricity. 

The realization struck him, harsh like a lightning strike anew.

He would never be free of Azula. 

“No,” he called back. “I'm tired of running! It's time I faced Azula.”

She was, of course, not far behind. “You're so dramatic, Zuzu. What? Are you going to challenge me to an Agni Kai?”

“Yes! I challenge you.” 

Fire and light pooled in him. Azula’s eyes flickered, mirthful. “Hm. No thanks.”

Zuko lunged forward, fire rising up against her, but already Dai Li agents acted in her service, manipulating the playing field and dragging him to his knees. 

Once again, Azula won. 

* * *

Down, far below the Earth King’s palace rested old Ba Sing Se and its crystal caverns. It felt as far away from the South Pole as one could be. Sokka of the Water Tribe stalked back and forth through his prison, and in one swift movement, threw his boomerang with all his might. It clacked against crystal — it wasn’t kind to the weapon, but all he felt was anger. 

Anger at himself, anger at his inaction, anger that Aang and Katara would be returning to a trap. 

At least Katara wasn’t here. 

She had looked so shocked when he told her to go ahead, to go meet their father. It had been so long since Sokka had seen him, and he _ached_ to. To be amongst his tribe again. But he had business in Ba Sing Se still, and not just in Suki’s return. 

Another flare of anger rose up in him. He picked up his boomerang again, banging it against the crystalline wall. Suki wasn’t there at all. Where was she? Was she hurt? 

Sokka wasn’t a bender. If he was, maybe he could _do_ something. But when a bang from his weapon accompanied the earth opening up above, Sokka nearly thought he’d caused it with earthbending. Instead, a Dai Li agent kicked a new sucker in to land in front of him. 

There was no time to be relieved that it wasn’t Katara or Aang. Instead, it was — 

“Zuko!” The other looked just as surprised as he was, one eye wide and the other trying to copy through scar tissue. Sokka stammered, “Or, uh — Lee?” 

Both of Zuko’s golden eyes narrowed. 

“Do you really think Lee-from-the-tea-shop was arrested and thrown in here with you, without my sister knowing?” 

“Well — _I don’t know_.”

Zuko sighed. He didn’t stand, instead pulling himself off the ground into a sit. He twisted to turn and face away; away from Sokka. 

“What are you doing here?” Sokka pressed. “You’re really not on the same side?” 

Again, Zuko sighed. So much had gone unsaid between the two of them during their time in the lower ring. Zuko didn’t look at him as he spoke. “You still thought I was tricking you?”

An uncomfortable feeling of guilt passed through Sokka. Had he? He wasn't sure. “You chased my sister and Aang halfway across the world — and then back. How was I supposed to be sure?” 

Zuko’s expression still faced away. “I see. So. You still… did all of that with me, even thinking I was trying to capture you.”

“Well. Aang really.”

The name hung heavy in the air between them. Zuko’s uncaptured prize. 

“And there was all that shit with my sister.” Sokka’s voice rose. “That’s my _baby sister_. Remember, when you stole her necklace?” It’s almost funny how easy it is for the anger to rear up. Wandering the streets, it had been easy to fall into step with Lee. Now he seethed at Zuko. “You have no idea what we’ve been through, what this _war_ has put us through. So you’re on the outs with your family — who cares. The Fire Nation took our _mother_ from us, and _you_ stole her necklace from Katara!”

Still kneeling, Zuko went rigid. He dashed a quick look over his shoulder, expression troubled. Carefully he turned to face Sokka. “I’m sorry.” It was a surprise. Equally surprising was the moisture gathering misty at the corners of Sokka’s eyes. Emotion was always Katara’s thing. Mourning their mother was Katara’s thing. Being the stoic, but funny brother and watching out for his kid sister... that was Sokka’s thing. Angrily, he blinked away the tears, while Zuko wet his bottom lip, his eyes on the floor before they rose to Sokka. “That’s something we have in common.” 

“What?” 

Two emotionally stunted young men can only do so well in a troubled situation. Zuko shifted on the ground, perhaps to stand, but instead Sokka lowered to his knees. “Fire Lady Ursa, my mother, left the palace in the middle of the night. Years ago. No one’s seen her since.” 

Sokka frowned. “My mother… died in a raid.” Zuko winced, but nodded. “It was the first time I’d seen the soot-stained snow. It told us what was coming but I… I didn’t know what was coming. I was too young.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” 

“Of course.” 

Somehow, slowly, they migrated, now sitting back to back. It was easier that way, they didn’t have to look at each other while they spoke. “Do you know the worst part?” Sokka asked. He didn’t wait for Zuko to say yes. If he waited, he might not tell him. “I don’t… I don’t even remember her face. That’s so fucked up.”

“It was a long time ago,” Zuko said lowly. “Don’t feel — ”

“No. You don’t get it. When I try to remember her, I see — I just see my sister. That’s not fair to her.” The words stumbled out. He’d only ever admitted that to Toph; he wasn’t sure why he was telling Zuko now.

 _Zuko_ had brought soot-stained snow to the pole when he first searched for the Avatar.

But the fallen prince spoke slowly himself, “I think my mother came to me that night. But, maybe I was dreaming.”

“Did she say anything?” Sokka felt when Zuko shook his head, felt the way his back shifted against his own, perhaps saying no, or perhaps not willing to share.

“My… father won’t speak of it. I don’t know what happened.”

There was more Zuko wasn’t saying, that was certain, but his voice was hoarse and hurting. Sokka couldn’t stay quiet. “What does that _mean?_ ”

“It means my father is cruel, and secrets are the currency of the royal palace.” 

“Your father isn’t cruel. He’s a _monster_. How could you even want to bother trying to get your honor back? Or whatever.” It felt candid and strange talking to Zuko like this. 

“He’s…” Zuko paused. Sokka heard him swallow. “He’s still my father.”

“So?” He would do anything to make his father proud. But his father was a good man, a man worth following. 

“...And he’s the only one who knows. I thought that someday… he would tell me.” 

They sat in silence. The Fire Nation’s royal family was too cruel and convoluted and conniving. “You weren’t bullshitting about the… the ‘fire kai?’”

“‘Agni Kai,’ you nitwit.” 

“Shut up. Well?”

“No. I wasn’t lying.”

“Why not?” It would have been easy to lie to garner sympathy. 

“I don’t know.” 

“And they did what they could? My sister is a healer.” 

“It’s a scar. You can’t heal it.”

“Does it hurt?” 

Quiet, pensive, it took Zuko a moment to respond. “No.” 

Long enough for Sokka to turn and stand. Zuko rose too, and his eyes were brilliant chips of fallen sun. Sokka had never quite seen anything like them. “Tell me to fuck off if you want, but, can I? Touch you?”

Zuko’s eyes widened, then narrowed, but he nodded, a small, minute movement, and Sokka reached out to rest his hand on Zuko’s cheek. The skin felt taunt, strange as his thumb drifted gently across Zuko’s cheek bone. Sokka’s mouth opened to speak, but he was rendered speechless when Zuko’s eyes drifted shut, head tilting heavy against Sokka’s hand. 

The other’s usually stormy expression was suddenly soft, jaw relaxed and lips parted just slightly. Sokka’s thumb rubbed another stripe across the scarred flesh, his own body drifting closer. 

Earth grumbled and roared as a passage opened, and both Zuko and Sokka sprung apart. 

“Sokka!” Katara rushed forward as Aang bounded in behind with Zuko’s uncle. Like it was second nature, Sokka gathered up Katara and spun her in a circle, and a few steps away General Iroh spoke quietly to Zuko. “He didn’t hurt you did he?” Katara whispered, but not so quietly that Zuko couldn’t hear. Sokka cringed. 

“Hurt _me_? I’m pretty fearsome too, you know.” Katara slapped his shoulder, but her eyes didn’t match her dour expression. He was almost afraid to ask, but his mouth opened, “Dad?”

“Good — they’re great. We’ll see them soon… after…” Katara looked to Aang, who was trying not to glower at Zuko. 

“What’s the plan?” 

The plan was to _move_. Sokka took off after Aang and Katara. Behind him, Zuko was in quiet debate with his uncle. Sokka did not look back. 

* * *

Sokka was gone, but Zuko burned with embarrassment and shame. Were he less quick, how would he have been found by his uncle and enemy? Craving any soft touch? The Avatar and his Water Tribe followers disappeared deeper into the caverns.

It was official. Azula had done what no Fire Nation national had done before. What General Iroh, the Dragon of the West couldn’t do — she took Ba Sing Se. Not with a bang, but with a sarcastic whisper. 

_We’ll catch up with you_ , is what General Iroh of the Fire Nation said to the Avatar. The Avatar that Zuko had been chasing for years now, whom Iroh had pledged to help Zuko track and capture. 

It hurt. He felt _hurt_. “Why, Uncle?”

“You're not the man you used to be, Zuko.” His uncle smiled, perhaps not realizing that he was taking a hammer to Zuko’s foundation. “You are stronger and wiser and freer than you have ever been. And now you have come to the crossroads of your destiny. It’s time for you to choose. It's time for you to choose good.”

 _Good. What is good?_ Zuko nearly snapped at his uncle, but not before glowing green crystals erupted from the earth, trapping Iroh. 

“I expected this kind of treachery from Uncle.” Azula’s voice was oil slick, and Zuko slid between her and their uncle. Even the Dragon of the West needed the use of his limbs for escape. “But Zuko, _Prince Zuko_ , you're a lot of things, but you're not a traitor, are you?”

“Release him immediately, Azula,” Zuko said, ignoring how sick her words made him. Him, a traitor? Never. Banished, perhaps, but everything he’d ever done had been for his people, his nation. His mother. 

“It's not too late for you, Zuko. You can still redeem yourself.” Iroh’s words were soothing and beckoning. “The kind of redemption she offers is not for you.”

“Why don't you let him decide, Uncle?” Zuko felt warm, not warm from fire, warm from nausea, at this family tableau spread out before him. The two of them were playing for his hand, both trying to manipulate him — at least Azula knew it was _his_ choice. 

Then her focus was on him, and he felt struck, like prey before a swaying badger snake. “I need you, Zuko.” Azula’s voice was soft. Dangerous, but pleading. “I've plotted every move of this day, this glorious day in Fire Nation history, and the only way we win is together.” Her fist clenched before her chest. She didn’t look so different from the young girl who’d scorned dolls and delighted in war games. 

His foundation splintered; then Azula delivered a blow that brought it crumbling. “At the end of this day, you will have your honor back. You will have Father's love. You will have everything you want.”

Everything he wanted. He wanted one thing, knowledge of one person, so _desperately_. 

Azula’s gaze was sharp and imploring. “Zuko, I’ll admit it again. _I_ need your help.” Azula was a masterful tactician, a firebending prodigy. Zuko had been left behind so many times, the thought of being _needed_ by his sister, by his family, by someone who left him behind again and again was…

Intoxicating. 

“I need you, your people need you. Help me, and let’s take Ba Sing Se _together_. Together, we’ll be written about in history, but only if you’re brave enough to make the choice.” Azula met his eyes, then nodded to her men before taking to the tunnels. The Avatar was escaping, and Zuko watched her back disappear helplessly. 

“Zuko, I am _begging_ you,” Uncle Iroh pleaded. “Look into your heart and see what it is that you truly want.”

“You’re assuming you _know_ what I want.” Zuko was surprised to find his voice was no more than a croak. 

“I know _you_ , Prince Zuko. I know _you_.” 

“Every time,” Zuko said, feeling the chasm stretch out between them, “every time I will choose my people, Uncle. I can’t believe you wouldn’t.”

“You can help our people without your father, Zuko!” Iroh’s voice rose, worry setting in. 

Zuko swallowed his nausea and turned away. The tunnels spiraled deep, and he sprinted towards the sounds of fighting. What he found was shocking: Azula was losing. The Avatar was quick and nimble as ever, his waterbender a torrential force with water whips. Sokka too, perhaps woefully unprepared for a battle between benders, nevertheless created distraction after distraction with swooping boomerang arcs. 

Truly diverging paths. It was only weeks ago that Azula had her back up against the wall in a small village, all four of them ready to pin her down. Zuko wanted to beat Azula. He could do it now. 

The other path. Azula _needed_ him. 

She had told him she wouldn’t win without him, and she was _right_. So many years being pushed aside, pushed _down_ — what better way forward than to be _needed._ To be seen as equal and _needed_. 

His body acted on its own, throwing himself into the fight. Azula was pinned between the three figures, but Zuko crashed in with his own orange flames. The look Azula gave him was withering. The look the Avatar gave him was curious. 

Zuko did not look to where Sokka stood, boomerang held straight in front of him. He only stayed aware of the weapon, and it arched towards him as soon as he made his decision. 

He surged towards the Avatar, marking his allegiance to his nation. Fire lighted from his fists, his feet, fueled by his need to finally put an end to his banishment. 

To be _needed_. 

The battle was swooping and vicious, the scope as cavernous as their underground surroundings. He and Azula fell into tandem. They had rarely been in tandem before, their own studies and aptitude having taken them in different directions. But they knew the same katas, had similar tutors. Firebending was their blood and lineage, and when Azula ducked, Zuko surged, when Azula spun from the waterbender to attack the Avatar, Zuko dived to take on both Water Tribe warriors. 

Water whips and a clever boomerang were still no match for the Fire Prince, but a brief moment of indecision pushed him back. Water met fire and steam erupted across the battlefield. A warm body tackled him and hands grappled him, pushing him down to the ground, but Zuko was still fast, still slippery, still running hot from his decision. 

Zuko ducked forward, flipping Sokka over his shoulder. He manhandled the other in front of him, thumb resting against Sokka’s clavicle and two fingers hovering an inch from his soft throat, a burst of fire burned warmly there. 

Through the mist, the waterbender hissed at him, limbs taunt as she held back water whips. In his arms, the warrior shook with anger. “One false move,” Zuko called out to the sister, “and your brother is no more. Surrender the Avatar!”

“You _fucking_ _asshole_ ,” Sokka hissed in his arms. Not to be contained, the idiot shoved an elbow back into Zuko’s stomach, breaking his hold and causing the fire at his fingers to dash across skin. Singed flesh scented the air, and then the fight was on again. 

The tide turned further in their favor when the Dai Li emerged. Victory in sight, the Avatar was nearly captured. 

Then, with a sickening bolt, Azula killed him. 

It was nauseating, watching the Avatar fall and the Water Tribe siblings steal away with his body. Zuko’s world tilted, uncertain, now on autopilot when uncle appeared, his own flames distracting the fire siblings and giving their enemies time to escape. 

Uncle was dispatched by the Dai Li, and the tribe members escaped. The sun set on the Avatar, and his mission. The sun set on many things. 

Azula appeared by his side, and both gazed upon the waterfall their enemies had fled through. “Welcome back to the capital, brother. Father will no doubt want an audience.”

* * *

Many miles away, after a ship’s journey, two fire attendants addressed Caldera City. Together, the women’s voices were one and singular.

“Your Princess Azula, clever and beautiful, disguised herself as the enemy and entered the Earth Kingdom's capital. In Ba Sing Se, she found her brother Zuko, and together they faced the Avatar…” Two voices joined together, harmonious, “And the Avatar fell! And the Earth Kingdom fell!”

“Azula's agents quickly overtook the city. They went to Ba Sing Se's great walls… and brought them down! The armies of the Fire Nation surged through the walls and swarmed over Ba Sing Se, securing our victory.”

Cheers from below quieted, and the women paused for effect. “Now the heroes have returned home! Your princess, Azula…” Before them, Azula’s back was straight when she presented herself before the roaring crowd. 

“And after three long years, your prince has returned… Zuko!” His own steps felt faltering, like one misstep would send him to the ground. He frowned, but the crowd could not see from such a distance.

They cheered for him. For Prince Zuko. 

Across the nation, word was disbursed on scrolls pinned on town halls, in town centers, passed from countryman to countryman. Two short messages adorned the illuminated page:

_our princess of fire_  
_clever and strong, she conquers._  
_the earth kingdom falls_

_your prince rises new_  
_strikes at the enemy’s heart_  
_the avatar falls_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for joining, I really enjoyed reading comments along the way! For Zuko, it's hard to deprogram after years of abuse to then make good choices. We'll get into that in the sequel. 
> 
> I hang out on [Tumblr](https://cassowaryriot.tumblr.com/) sometimes.


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